Man Utd, What Have I Done to Deserve This Pain This Season?

I don’t even know where to begin. Maybe with the hole I punched in my pillow after the final whistle in Bilbao. Or with the long, silent stare I gave my TV screen, hoping, begging, for it all to be some sick simulation. But it wasn’t. It was real. Manchester United had just lost the Europa League final to Tottenham Hotspur—Tottenham, a side we’ve lost to four times this season. And with that, the season from hell officially descended into the abyss.

It’s not just the loss that stings. It’s everything that has come before and everything this final represented. A glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, we could scrape together something meaningful from this cursed campaign. But instead, we doubled down on embarrassment.

Let’s talk about the manager. Ruben Amorim. He came in mid-season, and yes, I tried to give him time. I tried to be patient. But patience isn’t infinite, especially when it feels like you’re watching your club bleed out week after week. Amorim is wedded to a 3-4-3 system like it’s a religious oath, refusing to pivot even as the house burns. Tottenham were camped in their own half, begging us to attack with urgency, and yet we persisted, with three centre-backs holding hands at the halfway line. That isn’t tactical discipline; that’s managerial obstinance.

And the squad? Where do I begin? The midfield looks like a group project with no contributors. Our attacking line plays like strangers. And the goalkeeper, Andre Onana, bless him, is more comfortable playing passes under pressure than actually stopping shots. Who decided that being good with your feet was more important than making saves? At this point, I’d take a return of De Gea’s one-on-one heroics in a heartbeat.

The club, as it stands, is a mess. The dressing room is toxic, the board is indecisive, and the financial reality is dire. We’ve reportedly lost £300 million over the last three years, and the only salvation we had, winning the Europa League and clawing our way back into Europe—was flushed down the drain. Instead, we’re staring at Thursday nights free and weekends filled with existential dread.

Let’s be honest. Who in this squad, besides Bruno Fernandes and maybe Kobbie Mainoo, would get into any of the Premier League’s top eight sides? We’re not just lacking quality; we’re lacking hunger, leadership, identity. The badge still means something to us, the fans, but you’d be hard-pressed to find that same passion on the pitch.

Selling Rashford, Sancho, and Antony might bring in around £100 million, but how far does that go in this inflated market? And with our reputation at rock bottom and no European football, who do we think we’re attracting? Jude Bellingham? Victor Osimhen? Please.

Amorim says he’ll walk if the fans or board no longer want him. Well, Ruben, I don’t speak for everyone, but I am exhausted. Exhausted by your rigid tactics, by the lifeless performances, by the sheer stubbornness that’s turned this squad into a punchline. If you’re not ready to adapt, to evolve, then maybe you’re not the guy after all.

We need a rebuild, yes. But rebuilds require vision, flexibility, and understanding of the terrain. Right now, we look lost, led by a manager out of ideas and a board out of touch. The kids,Mainoo and Garnacho, should be symbols of a future we’re building toward. Instead, financial pressures have us discussing the possibility of selling them as “pure profits.” It’s disgusting.

And now? Now we face the prospect of once-a-week football. More training time, fewer injuries, sure. But also, more time to dwell on our failures, more pressure to get it right. And based on this season, I don’t have a lot of faith we will.

So again I ask, Man United, what have I done to deserve this pain this season?
Because it’s not just football. It’s emotional. It’s spiritual. It’s part of my identity. And watching my club crumble like this, it breaks me.

Fix this, United. Please. Before there’s nothing left to fix.

Ogungbile Emmanuel Oludotun